


A little short on Time (ILLUSTRATED)

by afhyer, Augenblickgotter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Community: Do It With Style Events, Crowley is Bad at Lying (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), F/F, Gen, M/M, Macro/Micro, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Tiny Crowley, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), crowley falls into a trap, occult forces, small crowley, smol crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afhyer/pseuds/afhyer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augenblickgotter/pseuds/Augenblickgotter
Summary: An innocuous cuckoo clock shows up at the Bookshop while Aziraphale is running an errand.Crowley sticks his finger in a trap and soon both of them are very literally trying to beat the clock before time runs out for Crowley.A fun short occult adventure with three illustrations by the charming Afhyer!___Rated T for intense situations.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Knock Knock jokes

**Author's Note:**

> I can't thank the amazing Do it with Style Events team for all their incredible effort in making these pairing events! I fell in love with so many pieces of art I was hoping to write for and am honored with our pairing up. Art that will be in this story was actually in my top selections I hoped to get.
> 
> I've loved working with my collaborating artist [Afhyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afhyer/pseuds/afhyer/works) so much, and also give them credit for some story suggestions and two really great lines that had me rolling with laughter.

"Oh, bother," Aziraphale suddenly swore, looking up from the bookshelves.

"What?" Crowley absently asked from the reading couch as he scrolled through his device.

"Forget something?"

"Rather," muttered Aziraphale hoisting the few books he had been arranging, setting them on a shelf. "I promised to drop this book off personally at noon, and time got the better of me. It's 15 minute until that."

"Where?" Crowley asked with little emotion, still transfixed to his screen.

"Just to that antique shop 15 minutes away. You know Simon?"

Crowley made no reply, not recalling whomever this human friend was.

"You know, Simon? He has an antique shop?" Aziraphale pressed as he picked up another book. "Anyhow, he wanted some reference books, and I promised to loan him them over the weekend."

"M'kay. Nice." Crowley tapped his screen.

"So, I have to hoof it to drop them off. He won't be in the shop long today.

Aziraphale was pacing to retrieve his jacket from the stand.

"I could drive ya'," Crowley offered, still not stirring.

"Oh no, please, don't bother." 

Aziraphale flipped on his over garment and snatched up the books.

"Save you the walking, " Crowley pressed.

Aziraphale buttoned up the front hurriedly.

"I had been rather hoping to take a walk and pick some things up anyway. Browse at the shops."

"Well, I can drop you off at these places..."

"Oh no, please, it's just a quick errand."

Aziraphale seemed unbothered and even eager to complete his task as he had already planned.

_"You. Could. Miracle._ " Crowley mouthed but didn't say aloud.

Aziraphale was reaching for the blinds to shutter the shop.

"Hey, I can watch the place," Crowley offered, not looking up.

"Oh, would you?" Aziraphale looked relieved. "I might have a shipment coming in this hour, and that would solve the problem of me not being there to sign for it."

"I can forge your signature perfectly," Crowley assured still lounging on the sofa.

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. 

"Don't do THAT. You know what I am...."

"Gotcha, I can sign and get your precious packages, Angel."

Aziraphale grabbed up the books and headed for the door.

"Thank you, dear." He called over his shoulder, "Don't strain yourself."

"Try not to. Mind how you go."

The door clanged shut. Crowley was left with the quiet tapping on his phone and the soft hum of people outside. No one was in the shop, and Crowley enjoyed the silence the bookshop always provided.

That was until the growl of the small delivery van pulled up and stopped.

_“Ugh. Time to get up and be the good Demon I promised to be.”_

The doors jangled again as Lesley, the Deliveryman, briskly strode in bearing boxes.

"Mr. Fell?" he announced, looking around. Crowley slipped up his glasses and approached.

"Yeah, Fell went out. I'm as good as. Maybe better."

Lesley paused a second but recalled the redhead with sunglasses that sometimes was with Fell.

Crowley snatched the pen from Lesley's front pocket as he set the stack of boxes down by the front desk.

He jerked the clipboard from the top of the pile as Lesley spun out the door then returned with a final box.

Crowley counted the pile and glanced back at the human.

"Signing for four boxes... what's the fifth?"

"No idea, sir," Lesley apologized. "Was in the stack this morning. I couldn't find a proper ticket for it. But Mr. Fell does get some odd shipments, and well, I figured he could tell me if he was expecting it."

Lesley thrust the medium-sized non-descript box out.

**"To; A.Z Fell and Co**." was stamped most formally properly along the top and side.

Crowley began to reach for the box and felt an alarm in his head.

_"Whoa, this feels...off."_

"Sir?" Lesley peered at the sunglasses.

Crowley snapped back to reality and realized he had stopped short of grabbing it.

"Uhm, there's no return, and I know it's a strange policy, but well, I've done some odd deliveries in my time. So I figured..."

"Good job, delivery human," Crowley said, seizing the box. "Have a nice day with the rest of your boxes."

Lesley nodded.

"Have a good one and say hello to Mr. Fell."

Crowley waited until he heard the truck rumble off.

His slitted eyes drifted back down to the box he still held before himself.

_"Heavy. Dense. It feels....off."_

Crowley tried to scan the exterior of the unyielding package.

It was so nondescript that curiosity already had his head whispering to investigate.

_"I mean... he said open the boxes."_

He glanced at the other stack, which was obviously boxes of books from familiar sources.

He stepped a few paces towards some of the bookshelves to keep from any prying eyes that might enter the shop, and set the package on the floor.

He fingered the tape loose, popping the flaps up. Inside was crumpled paper packing. Blank paper, not newspaper that could hint to a place of origin. His fingers didn't have to dig deep before he felt something solid.

Brushing the packing back, he was greeted with a face.

A clock face, at that.

Old glass shielded the plate bearing the numbers and intricate arms. 

_'Huh?"_

Grasping the sides, he shimmied out the device.

Not only was it a clock, but it was also a body of intricately and beautifully carved walnut with tiny metal trappings. Tiny intricate spires bracketing the sides, a mirroring carved leaf crown at the top, hanging pinecone pendulum weights, leaves and scrolls, little hinged doors...

_"A cuckoo clock!_ " Crowley felt bemused. And more confused.

_"Seems to be an authentic one, perhaps... 200 years old? Older? Looks like one of the real ones from Bavaria or somethin'. Hmm. What... why? Gift from someone? Did he order it? Was it his from years ago, perhaps?"_

The clock face revealed nothing as Crowley held it out.

_"Hmmm, I mean, it seems like something he might want in his shop or a gift a person could have given him. Christ I hope this isn't a present for me. Nah. Maybe. But I don't like something I am feeling."_

He set it on the floor and remained squatting by it. His eyes, even with his glasses, didn't want to look away. He stuck a single finger out and traced around the face.

_"Hhmm, set to 12:00... I'd have to set the pendulums, wind it, and hang it to make it work, but it's almost 12:00 now."_

He heard a clicking inside and froze.

_"Well, I hope it's not broke already."_

He was answered by some more whirring and clicking within. Crowley held his knees but couldn't bring himself to move.

_"Eh, guess it has a sense of humor..._ "

The little doors at the top popped open just as Crowley heard one of Aziraphale's wall clocks chime in another room.

_"It's 12:00, and the clock just did that. Hmm, will the cute bird pop out now or something? Oh, boy Aziraphale would love the heavens out of that."_

Crowley slowly leaned closer, brushing aside the strangeness the clock had showed a jolt of life at that moment. He tried to peer in, wondering why the doors wouldn't close and if the cuckoo had been removed.

_"Hey, you taking the day off, bird?"_

He poked again at the doorway when he felt something on his hand. Physical, sudden, and unrelenting.

He tried to jerk back but couldn't. The clock remained unmoved where it sat as if it were cast in stone, and Crowley couldn't pull from it.

_"Oh shit!!! I stuck my finger in some sort of occult mouse trap, didn't I?! Great going, Crowley!"_

He tried to thrash, but the clock was as rigid as if it was affixed to the floor.

A coldness was creeping up his arm fast.

_"Oh Satan this is bad!! Really bad!! It's not just some little witch curse; it's definitely a big league. Gotta get out... oh shit! Aziraphale!! Was this meant for him?! "_

Crowley mentally slashed out with some of his standard occult attacks, which weakened the grip but not the sensation.

_"I'm being pulled in! Oh my god, deep occult goddam cursed mess up piece of bleeding vile worthless cogs and wood!!"_

"Aziraphale!' he screamed once, hoping he'd be near.

_"Noon! Of course not! He's at that bloody what's-his-names place right now!"_

Crowley pulled up more Hellish power and yanked with all his might. He landed backward away from the clock and hit the floor hard.

Grappling his freed hand he tried to stand.

" _It feels... like ice. Almost dead. Oh god, what happened to me?! I feel drained."_

Attempting to rise, his legs buckled. He stumbled. 

This sudden situation was scaring him as much as just being caught. 

He glanced back at the infernal device with an urge to kick it over and then run as fast as he could.

The little doors shut with a cracking noise.

Crowley was terrified.

_"I...me... it has part of me... I can't even think straight, Like being drunk. And tired... agh. I gotta get 'me' back."_

He tried again to rise but couldn't even heave himself on his forearms.

_"Dear Devils in Hell... I... it's not my body, it's my soul. My being... Oh Christ..."_

__________________________

Aziraphale stepped into his shop, gingerly shutting the door.

"Crowley!" he called as he headed for the nearest desk to set his carry-out-bag on.

"Crowley! I'm back!"

He paused.

"Crowley?"

The Bentley was parked nearby where it had been before, so obviously, Crowley had to be around.

Aziraphale listened in the silence for a moment more.

"Crowley?" He stepped around, finding no notes or signs of Crowley having left.

He spotted the stack of delivered boxes nearby.

_"My shipment. Well, obviously, they were delivered, and he signed for them. But, not open?"_

Aziraphale stepped closer and glanced at them. Unopened and setting it like Lesley would normally leave them.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned slowly around. Something felt very wrong. Crowley may be unenthusiastic to help with menial tasks, but he offered to help and would at least make a cursory attempt to assist. The truth was undeniable, Crowley was clearly not here.

_"He wouldn't just leave. Perhaps something interfering with us. Renegade angels or demons interfering? No, it feels like..."_

He spotted an empty box laying askew by a bookshelf with some packaging material protruding from the opened top.

"Crowley?" he loudly addressed, moving towards it.

Nothing.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers to flip the bookshop sign around to CLOSED and lock the door. Perhaps he was locking in something with himself, but he did not need casual humans walking in at this moment. 

He stepped up to the box and saw the shop name scrawled across the top. Stooping to touch the cardboard, he reflexively pulled his hand away.

_"Hmm. Certainly feels off. That was not part of my order and looks too unassuming for its own good. I hope Crowley didn't..."_

His eye caught something else on the floor.

He stooped even closer and gaped at a clock.

_"A... cuckoo clock? It looks like it came from the box. And... Crowley set it there?"_

Aziraphale glanced around the whole shop, feeling like this was a set up for an unfinished surprise of some sort.

"Crowley?" he called one more time.

"Aziraphale!!"

Aziraphale jumped back and clutched the front of his vest.

"Hello! Crowley?!"

The screech of silence filled his head until Crowley's voice faintly came again.

"Aziraphale?!"

"Crowley?" Aziraphale stood and started to pace along the shelves.

"What... come out. Where are you?"

"Aziraphale! Don't touch the clock!"

Aziraphale snapped his focus to the clock, still ominously sitting on the floor.

"What? The clock? Crowley..." He stepped towards the clock. Crowley's muffled voice became clearer.

"Angel, listen to me. DO. NOT. TOUCH. THIS. CLOCK!! Do you understand?!"

Aziraphale knelt near the device and felt it, the unmistakable quiet hum of something devious inside.

"Crowley, what... was does this... this clock? What's wrong with it?"

"Aziraphale, just listen, do not touch this! It was draining me, it snagged me like a goddamn fishing hook, and now it has a hold of me!"

Aziraphale still held a hand near.

"Crowley, " he commanded loudly, "The clock itself is housing this... hook. The body of the clock itself is.... it's just a shell. I'm going to move it..."

"Don't do that!" screeched Crowley's tinny voice. "We both can't get caught!"

Aziraphale snapped the fingers on both hands.

"Listen, I have wards working for me at this moment. I am sure I can handle the clock. Now PLEASE, Please tell me where you are so I can help."

"WHERE THE BLEEDING HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?!"

Aziraphale furrowed his brows.

"You sound like... you are... in the clock."

"Niiiiice guess!" seethed the small voice from the clock. "All that Sherlock you have been reading paid off!"

"Don't be flippant, Crowley," Aziraphale scoffed. "Tell me where you are so I can help..."

"I'm IN the clock, Angel. Really."

Aziraphale held his breath and glanced at the device.

_“Impossible... no, improbable but not impossible.”_

Grasping it and could feel the unmistakable Occult thrumming housed inside like he was holding a living hornet's nest.

His guard was working, but he knew he couldn't drop it or he’d risk whatever trap Crowley had fallen into.

"Crowley," he announced, holding the clock before himself, "I'm heading for the desk and going to set it there. I'm fine right now."

"Be careful!!!" whined Crowley's voice. "You don't want to end up like me!"

"Crowley, were you discorporated?" Aziraphale strolled to his desk and set the clock down.

"Not... exactly..."

"What happened to your body? Is it in another plane of reality?"

"No Angel, I still have it."

Aziraphale gently shifted the clock to face himself, and sat in his chair.

"Where is it? Please tell me anything you can."

"Angel, I am still with my body and it's in this clock; how much clearer can I be?"

Aziraphale gawked at the device with steely regard as it yielded no more answers outwardly. His mind tumbled in an avalanche at what he had been told.

"Uhm, Crowley... are you... can..."

"Aziraphale," Crowley's irritated voice cut in, "Two things; Don't get caught in this no matter what happens, you have to stay out to help, got it?"

"Well, that goes without saying. I understand and very much plan that. But I am worried..."

"Oh, believe me, you aren't worried enough yet. You will be. Two, promise not to laugh or goddam embarrass me, understand?"

"Crowley, does it sound like I am laughing?" Aziraphale was feeling mildly distraught at Crowley's cryptic situation. And talking to a clock. "Just tell me how..."

"Knock on the doors," ordered Crowley.

"What? " Aziraphale looked around. "The shop doors?"

"No, Angel," sighed the miniature voice. "The ones on the front of this clock."

Aziraphale reached for the doors but stopped.

"Crowley?" he wavered, "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Well, it IS how most jokes start, I admit, but no. If this is a joke then I am the bloody punch-line! "

Aziraphale swallowed and recomposed himself.

"How many times should I... knock?"

"Just please knock, Angel," keened Crowley.

Timidly, Aziraphale gave a rap on the petite doors.

He was answered by a noise inside the wooden body like gears and cogs clacking as the doors sprung open. 

Aziraphale lurched back in surprise at the sight of Crowley, sitting in the small doorway where the cuckoo bird should have been. Crowley; very much smaller and able to sit where a small carved cuckoo bird normally could sit.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale whispered as he strained backward in shock.

Crowley sat cross-legged, chin resting in one of his palms, looking thoroughly peeved.

"Cuckoo," he muttered. 

Aziraphale covered his mouth.

"I know," Crowley smirked with a shrug. "Normally, that would be hilarious, but it's not really funny at this moment."

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped as he leaned up straight, "Please, what happened? How do... are you stuck? Like that?!"

"'Fraid so, Angel," Crowley huffed, swinging his legs to dangle over the small landing in front of the door. "Some sort of trap, and I had to stick my finger in it. No idea where it came from, what it is, nothin'. "

Aziraphale was still transfixed.

"The box was addressed to here. Lesley said it was tacked onto the order and had no idea about where it came from."

Aziraphale peeped back at the empty box.

"I wasn't expecting it. " He was clearly tumbling in his head for an order or shipment he forgot but was coming up with nothing.

"Well, it was addressed to the shop."

Aziraphale sighed and glanced at his diminutive counterpart.

"Sorry, Crowley," he murmured. "Clearly it was meant for me."

"Eh, I've had worse," Crowley said, waving a hand. 

Crowley had been caught in a fair share of curses and hexes, but mostly he could finagle his way out of or on to some other unsuspecting demon. And being such a size wasn’t the first time either. Crowley had taken on dozens of shapes and sizes over the years for his tasks. And not to mention being tiny didn’t lead to some fun and memorable situations. 

"No, Crowley,” Aziraphale corrected urgently, “This is bad. Can you do anything? At all?"

Crowley snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. 

"Hhhm,” he groused, “My Demonic Miracle obvious tricks are not working. Let me try something else."

His figure slipped into a slender appearance and melted into his black snake form, but was a snake merely a few inches long. The small head looked around at himself, up at frowning face, and back at the clock.

"Hmmm, that didn't do much," he muttered as he shifted back.

"It feels like it took some of me. "

"You mean your body?"

"I mean everything, Angel. Small seems to be a side effect, but I don't think I can do Demonic miracles." 

Crowley snapped his fingers harder. 

"Nope," he concluded with frustration. "I'm sapped. Not totally, but definitely not my usual demonic self. It appears…” He turned around on the small landing before the doors, hissing as he spoke “... I've been drawn into this stupid godawful ridiculous clock. " He heaved and balled his fists. “Not just ANY clock, oh NO! A GODDAM CUCKOO CLOCK!” The pent up frustration came to a head as Crowley kicked at the doors several times.

“Crowley! Please!” Aziraphale fretted with his hands. “Don’t! You might make it worse!”

“That would be an improvement! Grrrr!” Crowley kicked again before ceasing, folding his arms tightly while he gave the doors a death stare.

  
  


Aziraphale reached to press his fingertips against the clock body. 

"I'd say," he offered, "It feels like it's taken others' energy before. It's not from Heaven or Hell, but it's occult. And very old."

Crowley groaned.

"Maybe we could toss it in the fire, and it'll release me?"

Aziraphale shot him a skeptical look. "Not worth the risk at all. I have no clue how or what it's doing."

"We could dash it on the floor!" Crowley suggested.

"Crowley, I am not risking physically destroying this thing until I am sure I can get you out. All of you. What if you get discorporated too? I hope that isn't our final option, so let's try to avoid it. "

"How about a good old fashioned smiting?" Crowley urged.

"No," Aziraphale rejected as he poured over the clock while Crowley sulked.

"Oh don't put that face, dear boy.” Aziraphale roused up a confident tone. “We will find a solution that would not put you more in harm's way.”

That was the tiny prick of assurance the tiny Demon needed as he simmered down to rethink the whole situation.

"All I know is that at noon the thing made a noise like it was working, and then doors opened and I got pulled in."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. 

"You are right there, it's not even set and going. I'm almost tempted to try and start it, but more afraid something worse could happen."

"Do I have anything to lose?" Crowley dared, holding up his hands.

Aziraphale had been politely not trying to stare at his best friend's current state but rolled his eyes at him worriedly.

"You. What if something happened and I lost you."

"Angel, I am not enjoying being like this!" Crowley clenched his fists in diminutive rage and glared from behind his glasses.

Aziraphale frowned. 

"I know, dear, but if we make one mistake..."

"Angel," Crowley yelled out, "I stuck my finger in that,” He jabbed at the doors, “And this (he patted his shirt front) happened to me. Mistakes have been made already. Just try setting it and see what happens."

Aziraphale set to winding the gears and setting the clock. He lifted it to a wall to where a painting hung, removed the art, hanging the clock in its place. A steady ticking thrummed from it.

Aziraphale glanced back at Crowley who remained at the table.

"Anything?"

Crowley shook his head.

"No difference. I just _know_ I'm stuck with that clock and don't think I can go too far from it."

Crowley snapped his fingers, making his wings manifest.

"Hey!" he yelled with glee, "Still can do this!" 

A tiny flapping like a songbird loose in the shop fluttered by Aziraphale's head as Crowley deftly landed back in the clock doorway.

Aziraphale couldn't suppress a little grin, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Stop that!" Crowley squawked, pointing at him. "And don't say I look cute!"

Aziraphale looked sideways, blushing slightly. 

"Sorry dear, but you did look very charming flying around like that."

Crowley pouted, wings still out, as he sat in the doorway.

"Well, if it makes you find a way out quicker, I'll fly around the bookshop all day looking charming just for you. Just make sure the ceiling fans are turned off and no fly ribbons are hanging around. Oh and cats. Better not let any kitties into the shop; that would be an embarrassing way for a demon to go out."

Aziraphale tried not to laugh. Macabre relief washed over him as Crowley broke face and cackled at his own jokes. They both let the laughter out, feeling the small wave of relief between them as they shared the moment

"Sorry, Angel," the tiny Demon apologized. "Just... trying to clear my head on how to deal with this."

Aziraphale could see it was dawning on Crowley how bad this could be, and neither had a fast answer.

  
  


"Well, we have to get you out of this.” Aziraphale pulled the front of his coat forward out of habit as he set himself to the task. “What am I saying? I will get you out, of course. I suppose I had better start reading up where I can." He turned his sights up the gaping center of the bookshop and sagged a little. "Though I have no idea where to begin."

"Oh, you'll find something," Crowley assured him brightly. "You always do. You are the clever one." His voice was dripping with actual confidence that Aziraphale was scrabbling to find.

Refraining from answering, looking back at the hopeful yellow eyes peering at him.

_"He's counting on me. Of course, I'm going to do whatever it takes. But I have no idea where to begin."_

"Hey, c'mon Angel. You only saved the world. You can save one tiny little Demon stuck in a cuckoo clock, right?"

Aziraphale perked for Crowley's sake and strode up to the clock.

"Alright, no use complaining about it until I figure out more. I'll try and examine the clock without tampering with it. And the box it came in."

He was head level with Crowley and frowned.

"Let's just hope nothing changes for the time being."

"I think I can manage it," Crowley replied confidently. "Seems like I have things stopped at the moment.

Both of them grew uneasily silent, mutually knowing something could change suddenly before their eyes.

"Oh now, c'mon!" The Demon goaded as Aziraphale looked lost. "This still beats some alternatives! I'm not gone yet. I've had worse."

Aziraphale nodded and held up his hands to the clock, palms out.

To his surprise, Crowley flapped right on to them and sat down without making a scene.

_"He's worried,"_ thought Aziraphale. _"If he actually was care-free about this, he'd be making a scene and refusing to let me hold him."_

"See?” Crowley said. “In your hands, Angel. So, let's figure this out before I get any smaller."


	2. A thimble full of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley hit the books to try and discover more about The Clock. Again at 12:00 it proves it has a draining power on Crowley, who is becoming more fatigued. Aziraphale enlists the help of Anathema and Newton to help and they come around to a way to try to retrieve Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CUTEST chapter warning, along with the long plot-exposition parts.  
> MORE art by Afhyer at the end! <3

There was a mountain of books in the middle of the Bookshop on the large round throw-rug. Aziraphale sat in a seat paged through the first with supernatural speed. His eyes weren't missing a single word, but his motions were faster than any mortal could pour through a book. 

He started with antique clocks and clock making books he had. He found no specific matches but concluded it was authentic, probably from The Black Forest region and the 17th century. It was supposed to chime, or cuckoo in this case, on the hour. Aziraphale also concluded it had an 8-day wind-up, and was not a daily one. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or the equivalent of a countdown for how long they had. 

There were the little doors Crowley somehow knew would open and close for him, some blank interior inside, and nothing more.

"Doesn't answer where the cuckoo went," Crowley pouted. "Angel, maybe if we find the bird it'll release me!"

"Wonderful idea, Crowley, " Aziraphale sighed as he flipped more pages, "But until the bird that is not here or in the box materializes, it won't work."

They both had gone through the packaging and over the blank box several times. Even the delivery address was stamped, leaving no teasing personal clues behind.

"Perhaps it's the wood," Crowley called as he hovered near the front of the device. "Maybe it's evil and makes the thing evil? You know, a bad tree that grew over a graveyard and was chopped down and made into a clock?"

"I don't think so, I think it's just housing. I don't think this thing began life evil, it just got... well, possessed. You can understand that."

Aziraphale was breezing through European fairy tales, trying to skim as well as he could. Crowley was skimming too, he still had power to flick a page with the snap of his fingers. But his frustration grew as he'd pace, flutter back and forth to the clock, shout out some new idea, resume trying to read, and then fussing more. Aziraphale hardly noticed when Crowley landed on his shoulder and sat down until a small voice was in his ear.

"Findin' anythin', Angel?"

"Oh! Uh no, sorry dear." Aziraphale gave a flat small. He knew this would be a slog of work, but felt another leak in confidence with Crowley sitting there so hopeful.

_ "Crowley always acts the bluffing hero, he'd never perch on my shoulder if I asked. Is he afraid he's going to disappear sooner than he's telling me?" _

Aziraphale tried to resume reading about some Germanic occultism that didn't seem to have any relevance when he felt Crowley patting him.

"It's alright, You are doing all you can."

_ "I am trying, Crowley, but if that isn't enough..." _

The afternoon crept in and away to dusk. 

Aziraphale snapped on some lamps when Crowley yawned loudly. 

"Maybe we should call it a day, Angel. Jump on this in the morning?"

"Oh do rest, Crowley. You know I don't need sleep."

"Mean neither, so I'll stay up too."

Aziraphale didn't even want to waste an argument to tell Crowley to sleep. He needed his own energy to keep reading and searching.

It wasn't long before he felt Crowley leaning against the side of his head. Soon it went from a lean to a full press with the tiniest whine of a snore.

Aziraphale tried to peer out of the corner of his eyes, only seeing Crowley's legs dangling down his shoulders.

"Crowley," he whispered to no avail.

_ "Oh, he's so tired. Probably sapped more than he wants to admit. " _

He sighed as he set the book aside and caged a hand over Crowley, slowly standing up. He had made it through half the books with no insightful discoveries. New potential facts, yes, interesting points that might be relevant, perhaps dates and locations. But he began to suspect that he was dealing with something so old and powerful its motivation and meaning was lost in time.

_ “Lost in time…? Good lord.” _

Maybe it merely existed as such and only thrived from taking? 

Crowley pitched as limp as a ragdoll into Aziraphale's hand, emitting his little snore.

"Crowley," chuckled Aziraphale bringing up the other to delicately lift him, "If you saw me doing this you'd throw a conniption fit." 

Not that he hadn't carried Crowley before, and even at his regular size he'd throw fits unless he was too drunk or in the deepest sleep (which WAS actually the only times he got to carry Crowley, usually to a sofa or his attic room to sleep it off for several days and wake in a cranky fit.)

He held the undersized demon, caught in the humor and gentleness of the moment. 

Wondering if he should place him in the clock, he recoiled even as he moved closer to it.

_ "Not in it, but near it, just because I don't want to be far from it." _

An idea bloomed in his mind.

____________

Aziraphale miracled the remaining stack of books beside the plush sofa he loved most. The clock hung nearby at the desk, ticking in it's gleeful irony. He was settled into his loose sweater and slipped out of his shoes as he sank down on the cushions. He reached to the small table and lifted his wicker picnic basket to place beside him. Carefully he flipped up one of the hinged covers and smiled at Crowley sleeping in the jumble of the tartan tablecloth.

He politely miracle off Crowley's boots, jacket, and sunglasses. His black wings were still out, but folded down and tight in sleep.

For the first time all day he looked slightly more peaceful. Aziraphale was still bothered that despite all that fussing while making up the basket and setting him in he didn't stir once. 

"Good Night, Crowley," he whispered, closing the top and resuming his work, with only the unyielding sound of the clock ticking nearby.

______________________

Aziraphale was not scared of darkness, witching hours, and cursing things. Thousands of years, he was frightened by little. But even alone in his beloved shop, doing what he normally could do with relish until the end of the world, he felt ill at ease with the clock there. A literal face, calmly staring down at him. He caught himself glancing back at it, swearing he felt or saw something. Midnight was seconds away. Aziraphale was holding out his book, but his gaze was at that infernal device.

It dawned on him as he pretended to pour over his book;

_ "It was for me. It WANTED me. Perhaps it was for the both of us or any supernatural being. But..." _

He glared almost angrily at it.

_ "You wanted me, and now you have my best friend." _

And now midnight approached.

He recalled Crowley said it had come to some form of life at 12:00 before, even with no winding up. He now felt each clang of the seconds as the handed skipped up to align with the other at the top point.

_ Click, click, click... _

The chiming droned on as expected, and the tiny doors opened at the top. Aziraphale put a hand on the basket and swore he felt something passing by, barely detectable, like a gust.

The basket wiggled.

Aziraphale held his breath, waiting for the blasted litany of chimes to end, and heard Crowley moan.

"Crowley?" he whispered.

There were more noises as the chimes rolled on.

Aziraphale felt the sensation dissipate but couldn't stop himself from lifting the lid some.

Crowley was thrashing around, so Aziraphale flipped the top back and reached down.

"Are you alright? Crowley?"

Crowley leaned up with a gasp, clutching at the cloth around him.

His eyes were at their widest aperture as he fearfully darted them around.

Aziraphale slid the hand behind him and touched his wings and back.

"Crowley? What's wrong?"

"I... hmmm," Crowley was shaky sounding at best. "I had a nightmare, that's all Angel."

"Crowley, it's midnight."

"W-w-what?"

He looked up at Aziraphale's concerned face.

Aziraphale wanted to start shaking and could barely keep his voice level at the sight of his friend so pale with fear.

"Midnight," he sighed. "The clock went off. Something passed between you and it, and you had your nightmare. How do you feel?"

"Oh... I'm... just a little shaken, is all. Haven't had one in years..."

"Crowley, you are a demon; you have nightmares all the time. I know. You talk in your sleep."

Crowley pouted up, still holding himself, but made no denial.

Aziraphale rubbed his thumb up and down Crowley's back.

"Anything else, Crowley?"

"I'm cold."

Aziraphale shot his hands down around Crowley and lifted him up with the blanket, pulling him close under his chin.

"Crowley," he sighed, "I have a feeling the clock continues to take from you but is at it most... powerful at 12:00, twice a day. Did it take more of you?"

Crowley didn't respond as Aziraphale held him up to his face.

He just shivered under his wings, wrapped up in the tablecloth.

"Have you found anything yet?" Crowley blurted, obviously not answering, with a hopeful grin.

Aziraphale shook his head.

"Nothing to pin anything to. I'm almost done with the books, I will go back through this stack I marked for potential leads. Why don't you rest more?"

Crowley looked around and then gaped at the basket on the sofa.

"Did you... was I in the... Oh heaven, is this the table cloth?!"

"It is," Aziraphale brooded. "Did you want me to put you back in the clock?" 

"No! Of course not!" Crowley pouted. "I just... a damn picnic basket. I have a bad history with baskets, you know."

Aziraphale sighed as he lowered Crowley back down.

"Well, sorry. I didn't want you too far. Do you want to sleep in my front pocket, perhaps?"

Crowley paused a beat too long before pointing up.

"You do that, and I swear I'll never talk to you again!"

"It would be so cute."

Crowley’s eyes blew wide in threat and he bared his teeth.

" **Don't. Say. That.** "

"What?" Aziraphale preened, happy to keep Crowley's mind elsewhere. "You mean 'cute'?"

"YES! Not that! I am bloody well not going to stand for that!"

At least color had returned to his face as he fumed, still cupped in the bundle Aziraphale held up.

"Fine dear." Aziraphale slowly lowered his hands back to the basket. "But you do rather look adorable sleeping in the basket."

Crowley flashed his tongue with a fiery hissing and yanked the lid shut.

"I've been through goddam nine levels of Hell," muttered his small voice from under the wicker walls, "And nothing has topped this. I don't know if I can emotionally handle this anymore."

There was a clang of a glass against a bottle, making the basket lid pop open. Crowley grappled at the edge, peering around like an excited puppy.

Aziraphale was holding a glass and one of Crowley's favourite bottles of Scotches.

"Ohh! good thinking Angel! "

"Not too much, I don't want you to lose control of yourself," Aziraphale warned. "But I thought you could use one."

Crowley was nearly rocking the basket as Aziraphale poured a tumbler and set it on the table in front of him.

"Hey, well, c'mon, hand it over!" Crowley was holding up his hands in anticipation at the sight of the brimming shot glass.

"Oh, that's mine to get through the last of these books,” Aziraphale apologized. “Fear not, I have one just for you, of course."

He reached in his pocket, rummaged until he procured a thimble.

Crowley froze as Aziraphale held it up.

"Just your size!" Aziraphale crooned, masterfully pouring into it.

"Angel," hissed Crowley, "You can't possibly expect me to..."

Aziraphale held the thimble within his reach.

Without further noise, Crowley swiped it away.

"You tell anyone," he hissed clenching his jaw, "And I swear I will personally toss you into a bottomless pit of hellfire and laugh the whole time."

Aziraphale winked as he put the bottle on the floor, reaching for his glass.

"Mums the word, dear."

Crowley looked down at his knurled rudimentary cup, and then around at the cozy basket with the even cozier cloth. All this was reminding him of picnics they went on. Everything Aziraphale liked in life. The time and effort he just went through to make Crowley happy right now. Even this stupid thimble; Aziraphale cleverly came up with this because he wanted to make his best friend less scared.

Oh Satan, he was scared.

" _ If... what if... he'll figure out something. But, well, as stupid as it is, if I could destroy it now and stop this curse... I don't care what size or what I looked like for the rest of my days. Aziraphale wouldn't either, he'd treat me the same." _

A prick of regret for being so whiny with his treatment stabbed his soul. Aziraphale was doing everything possible. All he was doing was falling asleep after literally sticking his finger into this.

"Thanks anyway, Angel," he murmured, sipping the drink.

With a nod Aziraphale went back to work.

Crowley pulled up his blanket and started to drift back into sleep.

_ "I'd better get big though. He can't drive the car." _

_________________________________________________________

"Oh well, I am glad I'm not bothering you too much, dear..."

Crowley blinked against the soft light of a few lamps slitting through the wicker wall and the sound of Aziraphale having a conversation.

He propped up in his drowsiness and craned his head to the noise.

"Well, no, I won't explain everything over the phone, but you seem to understand what I am talking about... yes... just yesterday. Oh, and midnight there was an episode.... right, exactly at midnight... I swear something took more..."

Crowley moaned and tried to figure out who he could be talking to.

_ "Not another angel obviously. Or demon. Human. Hmmm..." _

"Oh yes, anything you could bring would be wonderful. The sooner, the better. Oh, I don't think we can leave, sadly, I am afraid to carry it around. And Crowley...."

Crowley pushed open the basket top to lean over the edge.

Aziraphale was by the main desk, in the same clothes and socks as last night. He was mildly disheveled yet eagerly talking in a way that was more hopeful than the last day.

"No, sorry dear, I am not the best driver on my own. And I am sure he'd refuse for me to drive his car..."

"Damn straight!" Crowley yelled, which made Aziraphale lookup.

The moment he spotted the tiny redhead, he covered the speaker and mouthed a name.

"Anathema!"

Crowley procured a highly dramatic groan, tossing his head back. Aziraphale continued the conversation, ignoring the theatrics.

"Well, then, if he could bring you I'd be sorry for the fuss but... fantastic! I'll see you later this morning. Thank you dear!"

Azirapahle hung the phone up with a smile.

Crowley pouted and stretched. "Uggh, why bring her into this? She won't know a thing."

"Crowley, she's an occultist! " Aziraphale looked excited as he moved some well-bookmarked books to a table. "Her family is hundreds of years old and have dealt with all sorts of supernatural things!"

"Yeah, she's a kid," Crowley snorted. "She might have a few ideas but..."

"Crowley, please understand it's as good a chance as anything. Besides, sometimes an outside view is needed. Humans are not completely unskilled. Besides, you owe her!"

"For what?!" 

Aziraphale glared from his spectacles.

"For hitting her while she was on her bike, of course!"

Crowley pointed from his basket indignantly. 

"She hit my car and clearly it was all part of that great big stupid Ineffable plan because you wouldn't have gotten that book and...."

"No matter," Aziraphale curtly cut in as he arranged the books. “You need to apologize.”

Crowley crossed his arms

"After she apologizes for hitting my car! I gave her the book back anyway! She should thank ME!"

“You should thank her for being related to the woman who’s prophecy saved us from execution and is why we are here now!” Aziraphale was nearly threatening the pint sized Fallen Angel with a bedhead still leaning from a basket.

“Oh yeah,” Crowley sneered in a sing-song tone, “Thanks to your blown up witch great-great-who-cares-how-many-greats grandma more getting it all right. Wahoo. That was just her job, Angel. She literally wrote the book on it.”

Aziraphale was still sputtering like a tea-kettle as he twisted his mouth.

"Crowley, she is coming to help you now and will be here shortly, so please do all you can to assist in helping her help you. Get dressed and wash up."

Crowley manifested something hideous, fangy and snake-like for an instant, snorting and hissing.

The lid on the basket closed tight as Crowley retreated inside, with only his petulant voice to respond.

"Puh. I don't like this and she'll mess something up and you can't make me..."

Several books suddenly appeared on the top of the basket, weighing the flaps down

"Very well," Aziraphale cheerily responded, "I am sure she will find you as adorable as I do, all ruffled up, half-dressed and looking ever so cute and living in your adorable little wicker basket..."

"AGGHH!!!" The basket jumped a little, but Crowley in his weakened state couldn't escape.

"You!!! You!!! I swear to Satan if you do that to me..."

  
  


____________________________________-

An hour later.

There was a knock at the door, which Aziraphale rushed to open.

  
  


Donning one of her sensible plaid coats, small glasses, hair hurriedly bundled up, Anathema gave an awkward smile.

“Uh, hi Aziraphale, I came as fast as I could."

She was carrying a rolled and tied up oilcloth clearly bundling tools along with a large suitcase-sized satchel. Standing behind and slightly above her was Newt, dutifully holding a pile of books.

"Jolly good!" Aziraphale greeted as he gestured them in with much excitement, and locked the shop doors behind them.

"Uhhh, she brought her boyfriend?"

Crowley's voice whined from Aziraphale's front pocket. "Seriously, I don't need a show here. What are the bags she brought? Eh? Angel, if she has torture devices in there..."

"Just uhm, bring your items here," Aziraphale called, pointing to the center of the bookshop. The duo shuffled gingerly past the books and scrolls strewn about.

"So uh," Anathema finally braced as she set her articles down, "You mentioned Crowley. Is he…” her eyes darted around, “... with us?"

"Uhm, yes, he is." Aziraphale assured, folding his arms behind his back. The Witch did a quick discreet look at the Angel’s aura.

Anathema mentally kicked herself for not scanning Aziraphale and Crowley when she first encountered them and finding out they were Occult creatures. It was so obvious, despite the natural deflections they had against such a general probing. After the incidents involving the End of the World and she interacted more with them, it was a completely different experience trying to see their auras. First off, Angels were boundless devotion, love, and energy. Also she was caught staring so deeply at his angelic aura the first time Aziraphale naturally stared back in his Celestial form and Anathema quickly learned Angels could be more terrifying than demons if you actually saw one. Demons were like a some sort of deflective pool of emptiness that tended to exude veins of hate and disgust. The few times she caught such being near beings, they exuded these around them, and the very rare time a Demon and an Angel were near each other it was like a match and a tinder. Except even more explosive. But these two were totally different; Aziraphale was very adoring and caring but also had touches of unruliness that were hard to miss. And Crowley shocked her more; he really brimmed with so much more than most simplistic evil beings had; ranges of joys and excitements that made him closer to humans. Whatever they showed, they may cause sparks near each other with their distinctions, but their auras more than not fit together and complimented the other.

At this moment Aziraphale's was bordering on explosive with worry and an urge to smite a threat.

Anathema glanced at her boyfriend and cleared her throat.

"Where is he... then?"

Aziraphale reached for his front pocket and moved his fingers around inside before holding up the hand, now wrapped with a tiny black snake.

The skepticism lasted only a second on her face as the Witch narrowed her eyes. She could sense, of course, it was him.

"Crowley... is a snake..." Newt concluded like it was a guessing game.

"Oh, that's not odd!" Aziraphale corrected as the small black ribbon wriggled through his fingers. "He was a serpent the first time we met, and it wasn't the last. What's odd is... uhm."

Aziraphale snapped his free hand, and with a tiny popping noise, Crowley was sitting on his palm. 

"Oh good heavens," Newt breathed, staggering backwards.

Anathema hunched backwards and stared hard.

"Yeah, sure," Crowley mocked , waving a hand, "Stare all you want."

"Crowley, silence for a moment."

"Crowley” she fumbled “... is... very small..."

"Wow!" Crowley sneered, "You must be reading Sherlock too!"

"And he can't get out of this state." Aziraphale was looking pleadingly at Anathema.

"And," Crowley concluded as he bound into the air, shouting in his most condescending tone, "He'd just love to!"

Newt grappled his own shoulders and cringed like Crowley was an oversized hornet.

Anathema hardly moved as the thoughts rolled around her head.

"So, you see," Aziraphale sighed, "Something has held him, took part of his soul and powers away, and he's much smaller. And it's draining him, he's ever so tired..."

"I feel fine, Angel!" Crowley was circling around the bookshop, making Newton cringe as he looped by. 

"He won't admit it," snapped Aziraphale with a growl as he neared the Witch. "I know he doesn't want to worry me more but it's obvious..."

"Hey! I'm fine! Still up to my demonic ways!"

Aziraphale was beside Anathema staring at the side of her face as she was transfixed in though.

"The trap." Her head snapped to face the Angel. "A clock?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth from Crowley to around the Shop. Suddenly she pressed past Aziraphale and was bee-lining towards the clock without being told where it was.

"It's this way, isn't it?"

She marched up to it and stopped dead in her tracks several feet away. Newton scurried behind her and nearly crashed into her smaller form.

"Is it... that?" he asked nervously.

"Yep," Anathema breathed as Aziraphale followed up behind.

"And it's a bad one."

"Sherlock finds another clue!" Crowley's peeved voice replied as he flittered towards the device.

"How... bad?" Aziraphale was leaning towards Anathema but staring at the clock.

"Really bad. I can see the tether it had on Crowley from the other room."

"Oh, am I on a leash now?" Crowley snorted as landed on the carved roof of the piece.

"Yes," Anathema said, stepping forward slowly. "It's trying to draw from other sources. It's pulling some threads from Aziraphale here, but they are insignificant at this moment. He has barriers. " 

"What about us?" Newton queried, not moving closer. 

"It is drawing from anything it can." Anathema sounded less fearful and more matter of fact as she came closer. "Since I have strong Occult ties it reached out and is trying to draw from me. But I’m a really weak signal compared to Angels and Demons. Since you," she nodded at her boyfriend, "Have a long history with the Occult and distinct unnatural touches with digital devices, it's interested in you as well but finding little. A few hours won't do anything to us. Think of us as little fish when it wants a much larger fish to hook."

"What is 'it'?" Aziraphale followed behind, arms behind his back. 

"IT, " Anathema announced, "Is not actually a living being exactly. Think of it more basic, Like... a virus. It functions, stays alive, and exists. It's an entity that takes and absorbs Occult energies and powers. It's taken many before and never ceases."

Crowley landed on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Well, it seems to...act like it has a mind and follow the rules and such. Even rule-breaking demons in hell follow certain rules and protocol."

Anathema paused. "Well, it might have latched onto something before. That was long ago and follows those set patterns and behaviors. As I said, like a ... zombie "

"What?" Newton sputtered.

Aziraphale whimpered and stared back to Crowley, wondering if he could still love his Demon friend as a zombie. A tiny zombie, but still a zombie.

Anathema chuckled, "It's actually a perfect analogy; like an animated undead that can function and may have shades of a previous person's past. But it’s destroying itself, revealing personal things nefarious for the source to take or reaching out to others and taking them down with it..."

"Like a computer virus," Newton muttered softly.

The room went silent, except for the tick-tock of the clock as all eyes fell towards the Ex-Not-really-a-Witchfinder.

Anathema couldn't look more startled. "Very much... and you... computers..."

Newton's brain tried to backpedal into what he might have just gotten himself into.

"Oh, but, We're talking occult forces here," he rushed. "Not.. computers at all! I was just.."

"It's brilliant, hon," Anathema gushed.

Crowley let out a whoop.

"Get Newton to touch it!" The Demon was uncontrollably animated and flew in the air.

Newton doubled back onto himself and looked cornered.

"Destroy it!" Crowley screeched "Blow it up! Scan me for viruses! "

Aziraphale was staring at Anathema with begging eyes.

Anathema hung her glasses on the front of her jacket.

"I'm not sure if that will work or not..."

"But," Aziraphale nearly begged, forehead furrowed.

Anathema held a hand in Newton’s direction. "It's mostly digital that he's deadly to."

"It's still a device and mechanism that functions. You said so yourself, like a computer brain."

Aziraphale was urgently excited with his logic.

"Perhaps he could shut it off! Or stop it from functioning! Or rid it of evil!"

Anathema went silent and her eyes shifted sideways.

"If we use an Occult medium as sort of a middle-man, it might be possible." She nodded back to where the books and tools were left. "I can show you the passage in one of my books and have some items to help."

"Great!" Crowley cheered, settling again on Aziraphale's shoulder. "This angel here is the most perfect Occult medium you could ask for."

Aziraphale huffed, rolled his eyes upward, and started to open his mouth in protest that he wasn't Occult. Crowley made a clicking noise, knowing he had the upper hand. 

  
  


"Oh, fine,” Aziraphale huffed. “ I perhaps can be a little occult for... this."

Anathema kept her lips pressed together, refraining from laughing.

"Okay, let's do!" Crowley pounded his wings. "Let's clean the clock! Punch in the face! Bring an end to it's time! "

"Wait," Anathema said. "Not yet, it's dormant. Well, more on idle. You said it seemed to cause problems at midnight and Noon, right?"

"Yes," Aziraphale and Crowley said in unison.

Anathema put back on her glasses. 

"Before we go any further, I will guess the cuckoo bird in it is gone?"

"How did you know?" Crowley smirked.

Anathema looked smug.

"This clock is missing something. Completed, the device could be self contained. Think of it like a blessing around a curse, holding it in place. The clock body is just the force holding it. I will guess that someone years ago removed the easiest piece and destroyed it. Maybe the forces within, perhaps another person. We'll never know. Now that makes the body like a... leaky roof. It protects from some, but it's very faulty and loose.."

"Can we... get a new cuckoo? Or something in its place?" Aziraphale helpfully asked.

Anathema shook her head.

"No. It would take years of searching the world to restore it and literally have no time. We need to bind it while it's open, get Crowley back totally and then seal it."

"Seal it?" whined Crowley "Can't we just, toss it in the fireplace or blow it up ?"

"No," Aziraphale filled in. "Even you as a demon could figure out THAT wouldn't destroy the body..."

"And release the curse to find something new to inhabit," Newton filled in.

Anathema held up a hand and nodded.

"Exactly."

Crowley sulked and stared back to the clock. 

"And we only have 12 seconds to make it all work if it happens. Is that enough time?"

The silence refilled the room. Everyone started at the Witch. 

Anathema held her breath, rooting for an answer.

"Is it?"

She forced herself to make eye contact with the Angel clinging to hope he was so good at mustering.

"I'm not sure," she said.

Crowley's wings went limp.

"That's a 'no', innit? We have no choice, so what's the use of complaining until we try."

“I suppose we just have to do it,” Newton said like there wasn’t another option "We can't stop time".

Aziraphale and Crowley's auras snapped like lightning in Anathema's eyes suddenly.

"I can!" Crowley yelped.

"He can! Do you remember at the airbase? He stopped it then so we could talk to Adam!" 

Anathema beamed at Newton. 

"My clever guy stumbles into the answer again, as always."

"Wait, no," Aziraphale said listlessly. "You can't risk it. You can barely perform a miracle."

"Can't you stop time?" Newton asked, confused. 

Aziraphale puckered his mouth sideways. "Not... really. Demons always had the leg up on that one. "

"Well, I'm either going to bloody risk it, or you'll have to try!" Crowley strutted his chin out. "If I can do it, we hurry and end it."

Aziraphale began to feebly protest as Crowley easily cut through his first few sputtered syllables.

"Angel, you know it and I know it, we don't have any time for this. I'll do my part and have my faith in you and those two simple humans over there, and we can finish this."

Crowley glanced over at the pair, removing his glasses to give them a confident stare. He then eyed Aziraphale with a nod. "So, let's beat the clock, we have an hour and a half until noon..."

With that, the group headed back to the middle of the shop to do a final pouring over the books.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Thimble bit? It's actually from another fic I have partially written and maybe will publish one day. But it fit too perfect here as the break-the-tension cute moment I am honored to repurpose it. ;)
> 
> The whole idea of the clock is I don't want a solid answer, I want it vague and threatening and so old and forgotten, no specific charm or spell to make it work.
> 
> A bit of a stretch to make the vague ideas work, just roll with it. ;)


	3. Until the end of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two mortal and Occult Being prep for high noon.  
> Though it's a mindless draining void, the power in the clock shows it might be capable of setting a trap for everyone to walk into.  
> Luckily for the group, the Angel it is after can be a very quick thinker and will do anything to save his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion and one more delightful piece of art! THIS piece was actually the piece used in the Do it with Style line up of sketches that I fell in love with and hoped to write a story around. :D

The shop was tightly shuttered.

Anathema had pulled out the books she found relevant and passed them to Aziraphale to let him tear through them. She didn't have to point out the most important passages, he found them with that inhuman speed. Crowley eagerly hopped between them now. After being as standoffish as he was to her, he certainly was warmer and even landed on the shoulder of her jacket to peer at what she was reading. (And then hiss to turn the page now, please, do all humans read this slow?)

Anathema fretted that if the Evil Thing (Crowley insisted it be called that, not wanting to labor on some fancy ominous title) got loose or the clock was destroyed any further it could get out into the Bookshop in one form or another and there was no telling what it would try to latch to. She lamented she didn't have the proper instruments, but perhaps could chalk a protective circle on the floor to create a bind. When Aziraphale peeled back a rug edge to ask if his summoning circle would work, the young Witch was left shocked and began to reconsider everything she thought she knew about Angels. It was more than perfect.

Thusly most of the remaining time was a former Angel and an Occultist reading through arcane books swapping observations, a Former Not Really a Witch Finder clearing stacks of books and chairs away from a portal on the floor, and a petite Demon hovering around to try and glean something new or haranguing Newton to be more gentle with those books.  
__________________

5 minutes until Noon, and the clock was balanced between two tall narrow tables in the middle of the circle.  
The plan had been rehashed and finally settled on;  
The Clock would strike and Crowley would do his very best to stop time just as Newton would touch it. Aziraphale would attempt to help, perhaps with a miracle if he found he could, but otherwise, he would attempt to be there to be a middle man to whatever power was needed to channel at it and rescue Crowley any way he could. Anathema would do anything she could from the outside to see if it was working. She realized that both she and Newton would be frozen to them until Crowley's time-freeze ended, complicating everything. But by this point, they knew they had to try something because there was no telling how many more Midnights and noons Crowley had left in him.

The ticking pressed close and closer to the moment.

Anathema barely could look at the terrified tiny demon who had relented and was letting his Angel companion hold him in his hands close to his chest.

"10 seconds," Anathema warned. "Game faces, kids."

"Tick tick tick..."

"Thanks for the best of times, Angel,". Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale's expression didn't change as he stared down the clock.  
"And to many more," he hissed in a dare to the small carcass of wood, metal, and evil.

"tick tick..."

The first chime sounded and the door flung open. Anathema's face gasped at what she could see. The energy didn’t just lash or creep out; it exploded in a mushroom cloud billowing outward. Just as fast, it pulled back on its sources, dragging life and energy with it. She felt a small chill and Newton cringed, but that was nothing to what she was seeing being stripped from the others.   
Crowley yelped as Aziraphale held him tight.

"Newton! Touch it!" Aziraphale was staring at the mortal with command, ready to see how it would react.

Newton swallowed and placed his fingertips on the miniature roof.  
Another more physical blast shook them, and a noise. Like the grinding of ancient god-sized machines waking and turning, metal screaming in protest and pain.  
Newton cringed but held fast. 

"It's... it's.."

Anathema looped an arm around him, trying to hold steady.   
"It's confused. Aziraphale has you pointed in the right area. I'm going to help you focus on where to tell it to shut down!" Her eyes snapped to the other two. "Stop the time! And get Crowley out!"  
Aziraphale held Crowley tight as he yowled and writhed.  
Despite it, The Demon drew down both hands and snapped. The sounds diminished but didn't cease.  
Aziraphale caught his breath and looked around.   
"Crowley, are we stopped?"

They both looked over at Newt and Anathema, statue-like in their effort; Newton pressing against the device like a man forced to touch a hot iron, Ananthem pushing against his shoulders, staring at his grip against this Evil, trying to focus his death-touch where it could go.

Something was strange, and Crowley shuddered.

"Hear it?” He whispered. “The sound? It's still goin'..."

He trailed off as they both spotted that the two humans were moving in the slowest motion possible. NOT frozen, just slowed.

“Oh, Christ!” Crowley confirmed. “It’s not totally slowed! Time is still going!”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers hoping to bolster Crowley’s efforts and then winced.  
"I can't... I can't perform a miracle! I need it to protect me! Crowley!"

Crowley pumped his wings hard, wobbling towards the clock. He stood in the door and held an arm towards the interior.

"Angel, I can start to pull myself back! Ugh!" He strained.  
"But... it's... ugh, the worst tug o' war I can imagine!"

"I'll help!" Aziraphale was stepping forward, ready to muster a miracle as he felt something grappling and yanking him.

"I can't... it's absolutely pointless because I'll get caught too. Like a perfectly laid trap."

His eyes popped. "Crowley, this is a trap! We set up in it!"

Everything became duller and louder at once like the Forces realized knew they were known and were wasting no time or energy to finish the deed.

Crowley yowled and was pulling harder.   
"Then let's bail and try later..."

As if the very air around them confirmed their realization, pressure smothered them from all sides. The sounds were increasing in resonance and Aziraphale felt lightheaded.  
He knew there was no trying again, and no backing out without at least one of them torn away. He'd be feeble and Crowley would be further than ever. He glanced back at the young humans, cleverly trying to aid him but so weak compared to the whole Occult presence.

"Angel! Get out and then come back and find me!" Crowley was trying to look over his shoulder.  
"I know you can! You are clever!"

“No, no, no.” Aziraphale was physically and mentally fighting the currents ready to yank him away. “There is not any trying again. I would go after you anywhere but you might not even be living… oh God no, please.”

"Crowley," Aziraphale announced as he saw Anathema's motions gaining speed, "I won't do such a thing. Anathema said it had a tether on you. Well, It won't be as strong as the one I have. Hold on for 4 more seconds."

Aziraphale lurched up to Anathema and grappled her wrist. In an instant, he swapped his soul with the human, and just as fast he was sensing what she had been doing. Anathema had marvelous talents and senses, but they were mere compared to his thousands of years. She could sense the presence of this Thing. But he felt it, there, deeper than the furthest galaxy. Something like a god that was half-formed and mostly forgotten, pulling and drawing to itself. He saw his own body looking back at himself mortified. Instantly he realized it was now starting to lasso at him now that he was occupied, and that Anathema wouldn't be able to stop it from taking his corporation.

"Alright, I see the problem, how to fix it, sorry Newton, but now I must hopscotch to you."

Aziraphale slipped his soul to the next human and pushed Newton’s into Anathema just as the Evil sensed what the Angel was doing.  
He clenched down his new grip and instead of using Newton's hapless destructive method of terminating this thing, he poured 6000 years of Occult knowledge back at the Evil with his fingertips.  
Newton's touch was always akin to flicking over a domino (very haphazardly and unintentionally) and setting off a chain of motions out of his control. Aziraphale instead was a focused wrecking ball in motion, pivoting and slamming into the force. The noises surrounding them amplified and the world shook.  
"Angel!" he heard Crowley yelling faintly. "Can't hold it much longer!"

Aziraphale gave a parting blow as the Evil began flailing and shredding apart, disappearing like feathers in the wind.  
Hundreds of years collecting power, distilling and consuming, and now it was crumbling.  
Time was speeding fast as Aziraphale slipped from Newton back into his body, pushing Anathema into the only unoccupied body there; Newton's.

"Sorry for the confusion!" he shouted as he grabbed them both. "But I assure you I will fix everything up once we are finished here!"  
He physically pushed both of them outside the Summoning circle, which was now a vortex of sound and dimming light.  
He cried for Crowley but didn't see him anywhere.   
Anathema and Newton were plummeting back to the floor in slow motion yet with increasing speed, and the sound of one of the final chimes became more recognizable over the cacophony. 

"Trust me, Crowley."

Aziraphale stepped outside the circle. The real world was almost back to speed as the humans stumbled over each other and confusion set it.   
“If I am Occult," Aziraphale whispered, "Then my tether is stronger." He reached a hand back in the circle.  
Both mortals moved through the sluggish reality, trying to comprehend what was happening as Aziraphale snapped out his enormous white wings.  
He stood, leaning towards the summon circle like a man reaching into a deadly current of water, face pinched in fury, gently flapping his appendages against the pull.  
Anathema, quite in the wrong body, still could see a weak pull trying to draw him in. But the pullback from him seared through the murkiness towards the still seated clock.  
Then a hand grabbed his. Aziraphale gave a mighty flap and yanked Crowley from the circle as time returned to its normal pace. The clock chimed its final, and the door closed. Everything was silent, not even a tick from the clock, frozen at Noon.

Aziraphale was grappling Crowley as if he dragged him drowning from a river. Crowley was on his knees, grabbing back and heaving, looking disheveled.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shook his shoulders.

The snake eyes were transfixed on the clock until his name was repeated. He snapped up at the face above him.  
"Aziraphale? You... did it!"

"And you are back! And normal-sized!" 

Aziraphale was wrapped around Crowley in a hug that included his wings. Crowley staggered up and wobbled as he stood.  
"I don't believe it!" he crowed "I… I almost lost my grip and you were gone and...What did you do there?"

Aziraphale beamed like he had been told what a clever angel he was.

"I realized we couldn't resist it without at least one of us getting pulled in. Anathema understood the principles behind its power, Newton has the touch to destroy things. But both were mortals and didn't have years of understanding I did. I simply inhabited them in turn and used our skills together."

"About that," came Newton’s voice.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and cringed as he turned to the couple.

"Maybe we'd like to swap back now?" muttered Anathema's voice very much from Newton's body.

"Hang on!" Crowley said, holding up a finger. "You both look great like that, just try it for a moment! We are getting to the good part here. How did you get me out then?"

"Anathema said it had a tether on you. After I had weakened it, I knew I could get you out, and if it was occult and perhaps I was..."

"...which you are," Crowley helpfully assured him.

"...if I was, my pull had to be strong and if it wasn't, well, I would make it."

Crowley sheepishly grinned.

“Might be the only reason I didn’t get totally pulled in fully the first time.”

“I think so.”  
Aziraphale may have been glowing at that moment gazing back at Crowley, who had dropped all his huffy embarrassment at being so close to Aziraphale.

"So you... yanked me back? Your fishing hook better than the other guy?"

"With every ounce of my being, which it took, but..."  
He hugged Crowley tighter.

"Awww, " Newton's voice from the much smaller woman's body cooed.

"Uh, lovely guys," Anathema sighed from the masculine frame crossing its arms, "Really lovely, you're auras could light all of London right now. But would you mind swapping us?"

"And you swapped human souls between different people!" Crowley beamed and the blushing angel. "I’ve done some crazy things but never tried that! I am gonna save that trick for later, what a fun time I could have at parties...."  
________________________

The clock had stopped working and there was no sign of anything stirring within. Anathema (thankfully back in her body) still gave some charms she recommended to put in the body to hold anything at bay. Aziraphale blessed it once with a spell to ward off new evils. Crowley cursed it that if it ever started ticking again it would implode into dust and insects. He then burnt the box it came in with a puff of Hellfire.

_____________  
Aziraphale still hung the cuckoo clock in the shop, not wanting to send it anywhere it could harm another soul. He could watch it here.  
Crowley surprisingly got over his fear of it, now that it was merely a carcass. As a matter of fact, he would transform into a snake sometimes and pop his head out of the door to scare specific customers. (Aziraphale told him to stop but let him do it on Halloween to trick or treaters.)   
Also, Crowley revealed a newfound liking to shrink back to his smallest size and hide out in the clock. Aziraphale liked nothing more than to be working around the shop and glance up at Crowley, lounging in the doorway watching his Angel putter while he had a perfect birdseye view. Humans never saw it. Humans rarely saw anything, honestly. That was, except for the rare little child who would be assured by the Bookshop owner there might be a few elves or pixies loose in the Shop.

Crowley also had a profound new love for sleeping in the picnic basket as well.  
It was upon the shelf, not far from the view of Aziraphale’s desk. Crowley would silently sneak or slither to it when he thought his Angel was fully engrossed in a book and disappear for hours on end.  
Aziraphale pretended not to know that.  
The tiny snakey snores were hard to miss, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there! A bit of a stretch of the imagination. But I liked the idea that if there is all sorts of power in the universe, some is so old and uncared for it's like a dirty old computer virus you can stumble into.
> 
> I wanted the emphasis that Crowley's emotional bind to Aziraphale is what kept him from initially getting completely drawn in totally the first two times and Aziraphale's was what could get him out
> 
> Again, it's not explained where the clock came from, if someone sent it. That's up to you.
> 
> I can't thank the wonderful Afhyer enough for working with me on this adventure!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, those looking for DIRTY micro/macro stories, sorry, not this piece. This is an adventure piece with some close moments, but none of that.  
> ________________
> 
> Crowley, ever sarcastic. But I'm hinting that he is more terrified than he wants to let on.
> 
> ______________________


End file.
